#husks of empty accounts

[powerfulkicks]

*in a half fugue state* a discord server as an ever changing house

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan – even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[the-booty-crusader]

Had an idea for a video game reverse transmigration AU so here goes:

There’s a popular online cultivation game called Proud Immortal Demon Way that’s been making the rounds recently due to a new encounter players might run into that was unlike anything they’d ever experienced in other games.

In this encounter, the atmosphere would dim out of nowhere and from a distance, a boss character would start approaching them. Suddenly, their character would be grabbed out of nowhere by the incredibly handsome and imposing figure with red and black robes, a black sword and a full mane of hair. The man would look at their character before dropping it while clicking his tongue, usually saying something like, “Another empty husk…” before turning to the player’s screen and staring at them for a few moments. Even if the player tried to attack the boss character, it would ignore the attacks, hardly gaining any damage at all.

Then the character would furrow their brows and turn away. “You’re not the one.” he would say, and he would leave through a portal made with his sword.

The encounter happened only once per account, and the only hint that it was about to happen was a small voice calling out “Shizun?” from off-screen.

One day while Shen Yuan, under his somewhat popular streaming name PeerlessCucumber, was grinding enemies before a big raid, he heard the iconic and long-awaited “Shizun?”.

Rather than run away or attack like most players did, Shen Yuan was excited to finally, FINALLY get to see this legendarily unbeatable and good-looking NPC for himself and happily ran up, chattering happily to his viewers as he wanted to show them what usually happened when one encountered this particular boss.

The boss started his usual routine, picking the player character up and tossing it aside with an annoyed mumble before turning to the screen— no, to Shen Yuan.

His head tilted then and that— that wasn’t part of the routine.

A somewhat unsettling smile made its way onto the character’s face as he approached the screen, seemingly getting closer to Shen Yuan.

“Found you, Shizun.” he said.

That was the last time anyone saw the boss in-game. There was a video clip roaming around of PeerlessCucumber’s facecam, where an arm reached from off-screen into his room, strangely from about where the man’s screen should have been.

Then the stream cut and PeerlessCucumber hadn’t streamed for over a year.

When he came back, however, he introduced his new husband, Luo Binghe to his viewers. His new husband looked strangely familiar to anyone who'd played Proud Immortal Demon Way.

If anyone feels like expanding on the fic feel free, this brainworm was stuck in my head and I have too much homework to write anything longer than this 😅

[colemacgrathtkz]

Thank you, @emositecc

[Lyrics]

Husk: "Your fanfic's bad and you've hit a writer's block.

All your ideas seem freakin stupid.

Your whole mind's empty and you're thinking you're a hack.

Can't post a chapter cuz it's so mid.

One hate comment- makes you take your account down.

Well, let me just say, you're a clown!"

Angel Dust: "Wait, what?"

Husk: "You're a writer, mootsie. A writer writing fanfics. You write cringe filled little Mary sues."

Angel: "DUH!"

Husk: "You're an artist just like me."

Angel: "Your art sucks!" >:(

Husk: " You're a peoples pleaser. Got only one kudos from userer 'Loonlover69_Simper'. And they liked it, you see." :3

Angel: "That's just one comment! I want more!!" :(

Husk: " There was a time I thought that no could relate to the haters this artist is facing.

But practicing more.. it can make our slow burns great.

It's not other numbers we should be facing."

Angel: "There's one comment.... that said my writing's sh#t!" >:(

Husk: " That doesn't mean it can't be lit!

Let's collab, man!

We're both artists, buddy. We're artists. It's ok to start with...."

Angel: " Bad grammar? Sucky flow?"

Husk: " You'd still get art from me."<3

Angel: " I'm a writer and crazy for crackfics, kinks and cliches. But at least I warn when I write p@#n."

Both: "You're an artist just like me."

Husk: "I draw all the ships I'm stannin."

Angel: "I write all the tropes they're hatin.

Enemies to lovers is my jam!"

Husk: "Go ahead, let me see your drafts, come on!"

Angel: "They get together in chapter four."

Husk: "I'll draw you fan art; just make me more!

Even if there's no comments.."

Both: "We'll keep on breaking lore. Who needs a shower??????"

Angel: "You're an artist, mootsie."

Husk: " An artist, and just maybe if we...."

Both: " make stuff together, we'll be so much more happy."

Husk: "It's time to lose your self-loathing.

Just make art, go have fun and mootsie.

Post your ic!

Ignore the icks!"

Both: " An artist....

just....

like...."

Shark demon: "There's they are!

They like Hazbin?!?!

SHOOT EM!!"

[radioisntdead]

Buon giorno or Buona notte dearest!!

I have another request heheheh

Think of this : Angel and the gang go out for another trust exercise, and they see an add for one if m!readers concerts.

Since Angel is a fan, he asks to go with the group as a bonding experience, which Charlie says yes too

They go together, and m!reader is getting ready, when they see Angel and think he's quite cute, not knowing him from his ahem, works and they sing a love song (Heavy metal lover by Lady Gaga) and Angel almost has a heart attack.

(It's mostly the ; 'I could be your girl,girl,girl' part that I get inspired from)

At some point Val starts being a weirdo, and then m!reader publicly shits on him in front of their entire audience, and he leaves after getting taken away by a few of m!readers fans

And it ends happily ever after with them together forever :D

(Readers music vibe is like odetari, ayesha erotica, asteria, etc)

If you could do this, it would make my summer!!

Love

-XIN🌹💝

Good evening my dearest Xin! I had so much fun writing this, my apologies it took awhile to write but I hope you enjoy it!

Backstage passes

Angel dust x M! Reader

Warnings: Valentino gets ripped apart, literally. Reader is low-key like the dazzlings from MLP, also I imagine the reader died via Bell accident like that evil dude from Disney's coco

Song used [I listened to this song so much while writing that it actually made me sick LMAO]

You appeared in hell overnight after dying from an unfortunate and totally not planned stage accident, involving a bell, everything you had worked so hard for gone within a mere moment.

Filled with rage and the confidence of someone desperate to thrive in the spotlight, you began to conquer the music scene of hell.

You climbed the ranks and crushed those beneath you, if you weren't so focused on gaining fame instead of plain ol' power you'd give a couple of overlords a good run for their money.

You captured the attention of hell's finest, sinners and hellborn alike wanted to book you for their events, concerts were sold out within seconds, stan accounts on hell's Twitter servers would beef with those who opposed you, music edits were made of you, memes and clips, mildly disturbing fanfiction was written, you were an icon.

Along with catching the attention of hell's finest, you gained Angel dust as a fan.

Your music would be playing in the clubs he went to, sometimes played during his drag shows, he'd use it as background for whatever thoughts he disassociated away to whenever Valentino was having his way, or he'd just listen to your music when he was alone.

And so when Charlie somehow managed to get the entire hotel front row tickets to your show after he mentioned it's make a good group exercise, he was ecstatic!

The group waited outside, Charlie and Vaggie were trying to secure a place for them in line, Alastor would rather died again then attend so his ticket went to Cherri, Husk had found the bar, Niffty was terrorizing some sinners by cleaning, Sir Pentious was... Sir Pentious-ing Cherri bomb, and that left Angel dust to wonder around until the show began, stumbling into a nearby store to grab some snacks.

You on the other hand sneaked out to go to the convenience store near by the concert venue in full performance outfit covered by an oversized coat and hood just to grab a slushie and a light snack because with all the dancing you were going to be doing, you couldn't do on a empty stomach but not a too full one or you'd puke!

And that's where you saw him, purchasing a couple of things.

You had a little thing for cute things, and Angel dust seemed to fall into that category, for you anyways, for most of hell's people, they usually tended to put him into a more... Exploitive one,

It wouldn't hurt for you to make one of your people drop off a couple of backstage passes for that spider, after your show right?

Or better yet maybe you could do it yourself?

The concert venue was filled with sinners and hellborn alike from all types of backgrounds, all there to see you perform.

Including a couple of overlords.

Angel's eyes bounced around the stage waiting for your arrival.

Soon enough the bright lights dimmed and more colorful ones took their place.

Lights, smoke, action.

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

It was starting.

Heavy metal lover Heavy metal lover

You came up from a platform under the stage smoke coming out with you as the music began, microphone in hand, and eyes closed shut.

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Your eyes shot open as you began to move, background dancers were moving in sync, all eyes were on you.

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Dressed in black and neons you practically glowed in the dark atmosphere,

"I want your whiskey mouth all over my blonde south," your voice rang out throughout the venue causing some members of the audience to scream out your name.

You struggled to hold back a filthy grin.

"Red wine, cheap perfume, and a filthy pout," you walked out onto the stage front and center, lights following you in all your leather-y glory, the backstage passes in your sleeve crinkled.

"Tonight bring all your friends, because a group does it better," Angel dust's eyes were locked onto you much like everyone's else's, like they were hypnotized.

"Why river with a pair? Let's have a full house of leather," Oh how you adored being the center of attention, you looked at the crowd, eyes glancing over everyone, a mild shiver of disgust went through you when you accidentally locked eyes with what looked to be a grape flavored moth.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You quickly moved your eyes away to continue looking for a certain spider, honestly your attachment to see a sinner you only saw for five seconds tops in a convenience store was interesting.

What was even more interesting was your ability to avoid the explicit ads for the films he did, seriously they were everywhere in hell! Including said convenience store!

"Heavy metal lover,"

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

"Heavy metal lover,"

As you walked across the stage you kept your eyes on the audience,

Searching..

Searching..

And you found him!

Right in the front row, how did you not see him before?

"Dirty pony, I can't wait to hose you down," your eyes locked on him as his locked on yours.

Did that count as a horrible, HORRIBLE pickup line or was that just poorly timed?

"You've got to earn your leather in this part of town," it seems someone hadn't seen the poison music video! You flared out your own leather jacket, the shiny gems on it sparkling in the dark.

"Dirty pearls and a patch for all the Rivington Rebels," you winked at him before turning on your heel as your background dancers circled around you with all sorts of dancing.

"Let's raise hell in the streets, drink beer and get into trouble,"

You danced and your background dancers mimicked in perfect coordination.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

"Heavy metal lover,"

You began strutting to the center of the stage.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You leaned down and went into what I can only describe as a sensual army crawl but without relying on your elbows to crawl.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You moved towards Angel dust.

"Heavy metal lover,"

You reached out an arm towards him, gently tugging on his bowtie to pull him closer to the stage, once he was close enough you touched his face, his eyes were wide and his heart was nearly pounding out of his fluffy spider chest, you his all time favorite singer was touching his face.

"I could be your girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl,"

Within seconds you moved your arm just enough to loosen the backstage passes from your sleeve and have them fall into your hand.

"But would you love me if I ruled the world, world, world?"

You tucked the tickets into the front of his shirt where his chest fluff was located, being careful not to accidently grope the spider.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You gave a wink before flipping yourself onto your back and throwing yourself up and strutting back to the middle of the stage as your performers danced around you.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Unfortunately a certain moth witnessed your little flirt, with his best pornstar? He didn't think so.

Without alerting the other two Vees who were actually focused on the show itself he marched his way through the crowd.

Heavy metal lover

"Whip me, slap me, punk funk, New York clubbers, bump drunk,"

Shoving audience members to the side, causing some to crash into each other and tumble like dominoes, grabbing the attention of others.

"Bud Light, liquors, bar slam, move it, this is your jam"

Of course that caught your attention, and you didn't appreciate someone stepping out and stealing the attention that belonged to you! That you deserved and worked so hard for!

"Wash the night with St. Jameson, Like a baptism, heavy metal lovers play,"

You took a couple of steps towards the side of the stage where he was.

"Baby, we were born this way''

"Uh oh, it seems a shiny headed purple man is trying to wreck the show! We can't exactly have that now can we?"

You could barely hear whatever words he was saying, in your prospective it was like a grape yappin' away.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

With a wave of your hand the crowd grabbed onto him, lifting him up and pulling him through, landing him in the cannibal section.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Grabbing onto his limbs and pulling them apart, teeth were sunk into him pulling at his purple flesh.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Attention was back on you, as it should be.

No one paid mind to Valentino's screams as if they couldn't hear it or as if it wasn't happening at all, completely and utterly enamoured with you and your music.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Heavy metal lover

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Neither of the Vee's would notice he was gone until hours after the show, no one would notice the blood scattered on the floor until late at night when they were cleaning up the messes, and no one would know what exactly happened to him until he eventually respawn, having lost everything.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Heavy metal lover

What a scary power you possessed, even if you didn't completely realize you had it.

But that wasn't the focus here, because as if nothing ever happened you went back to flirting with Angel dust from the stage.

"I could be your girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, but would you love me if I ruled the world, world, world?"

Eventually the show would end, and you'd wait anxiously backstage until that spider came, cashing in that backstage pass you shamelessly gave him from the stage, followed by the princess of hell herself moments later trying to get you to join her hotel.

Heavy metal lover Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

And what else could you do then accept her invitation to join her little hazbin hotel, although you were anything but a hazbin.

And if you did manage to get past the pearly gates, you already had earth and hell alike in a chokehold, imagine what you'd accomplish if you performed in heaven?

Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

It was a good chance to get to know Angel dust as well, the two of you would go from friends to something more.

Heavy metal lover

Friends to lovers was such a a underrated trope wasn't it?

Heavy metal lover

It wouldn't hurt to lean a little more into romantic songs, especially if you went the more cheesy route and played for Angel alone.

Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

You couldn't wait for the chance to shamelessly flirt with him while you were on stage again.

Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

Good evening folks! I hope you enjoyed! I know my posting schedule has been a little wonky [side eyeing the Wednesday angst being posted on Thursdays] my bad, there's some personal stuff going on, plus I've been feeling a little sick but hopefully everything will be a little more organized this week! As always thank you for tuning on in, goodnight!

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

I love the idea of ‘feel good’ whump where whumpee feels amazing and that’s what makes it tragic. another example of this would be like, solider adjacent characters are in some sort of mission on enemy turf, trying to escape out of a labyrinth to earn their freedom, there’s a catch. instead of subduing heavy duty nitrous plus some other recreational gas is being pumped into the area. just the way the team would entirely unravel is perfect. stoic warriors reduced to a giggling husk as they try to continue onwards, only to forget what they were there for in the first place.

bonus points if enemy warriors come in and contain them, by simply playing along with the whumpee’s fantasies.

You absolutely get it! Yes! YES!

There’s something so…insidious about this idea (POSITIVE). I love the idea of them just trapped there like rats in a maze, succumbing to something they know is there but can do nothing to stop. They don’t know where the exit is, they don’t have anything to deal with an airborne toxin, they can’t simply stop breathing. All they can do is cup shaking hands around their mouths and pray it’ll be enough to buy them some time.

There’s one specific detail I like about this scenario! It’s inefficient in one specific aspect, the simple fact that you can’t account for different tolerance levels with an airborne chemical. It’l hit some harder than others, faster than others, leaving some stumbling into delirium before others begin to feel anything. It’s a slow process; a creeping, looming threat that’s terribly slow but impossible to outrun.

And I love that.

Imagine the helplessness of it. Watching your teammates falling apart around you; their determined steps replaced by a dazed stumble, looks of worry swept away by a blank smiles and empty eyes. Watching your once composed allies fall into a hazy madness, consumed by fits of giggles and chemical calm. Seeing confusion falling over everyone, and being just aware enough to feel that same pressure against your own mind. Looking at everyone falling apart around you and knowing you’ll follow suit. That you might already be too far gone and not even realize it.

Imagine Leader being the last one standing, alone despite the people around them. Forced to watch their friends falling apart, made defenseless by whatever Whumper was pumping into the air. Knowing that they’re the last line of defense between Whumper and their teammates.

The first to go was Whumpee. They’ve always been small, lithe where others were bulky. They’d used that to their advantage in the past, but now it only means they were the first to begin to lose themselves.

They’d crumbled about half an hour before, dissolving into a fit of giggles so unlike themselves that it’d left everyone shocked. The dazed smile on their face, blissed out and uncaring of Caretaker’s worried expression, was their first sign of how dire their situation was.

Leader had no choice but to carry them now, not trusting Whumpee’s legs to support them. Whumpee-–prideful, stubborn, competent Whumpee—was tucked into their arms like a child, head leaning heavily against Leader’s chest. They were babbling sleepily in Leader’s arms, the waterfall of incomprehensible words the only sign they were still conscious.

Caretaker isn’t doing much better. They’re still standing at least, still aware enough to follow after Leader, still in control of their own mind. But every few minutes Leader had to remind them to keep their mouth covered, the memory of their situation seeming to flow out of their mind like water. Caretaker’s eyes had grown hazy, their steps clumsy in a way that filled Leader with dread.

Leader doesn’t know how much longer Caretaker will last. Leader doesn’t know how long they’ll last, forced to breathe in the same air that had taken down their team. What they do know is that their team is depending on them.

They need to get everyone to safety. The thought is an anchor, a single goal holding them steady against the waves of dizziness starting to blur their vision. They can hear Whumpee murmuring against their chest, see the distance in Caretaker’s eyes. Leader knows that they’re the only one who can save them.

Leader holds onto that thought. They hold onto it even as a haze falls over them, as poison slips through the cracks in their mind and melts away at their awareness. The environment around them becomes a blur, endless halls Leader can’t seem to recognize anymore. They forget why they were trying to take shallow breaths, forget where they are in the first place, forget why they’d ever come to such a confusing place. They only know that Whumpee is limp in their arms, that Caretaker is stumbling alongside them barely able to stand, and that they have to save their team. Everything but that one goal has been washed away.

So it’s a relief when they finally find someone. A pair of men who speak with authority and confidence, who seem to know how to escape. They promise to lead the team aout, and the relief Leader feels at their words shatters what little concentration they had left. A laugh bursts from their lips, relief and the chemicals in their lungs filling their head with a wave of dizzy giddiness. That single, anchoring thought has been uprooted, leaving their mind adrift in the glow of a job well done.

Leader doesn’t recognize the men’s uniform, nor do they ever question where they came from. There’s no room left in their head to notice the smug smirks masquerading as smiles, to realize the ill intent hidden behind the guise of safety. All they can see is the promise of safety for their team.

They don’t resist when their hand is draped over someone’s shoulder, body suddenly too heavy to stand on their own. They don’t respond as Whumpee and Caretaker are carried alongside them, just as boneless. Leader’s mind drifts as they’re lead away.

[kabobroaster]

Forget Me Not

Okay friends let’s picture it:

Young Julian, like 4 or 5, is sitting in the garden one evening trying to sing a song to the flowers so they will grow big and beautiful. His parents had gotten annoyed with his noisier as and sent him out of their presence for the night.

Now Julian knew not to be cross in front of his parents as it often earned him a fierce scolding and he had no friends on account of having never left his families estate. So the flowers would be his friends. The flowers and the herbs and the insects that tended the garden more dutifully than any human could. He would sing to the roses and the lilies and forget me nots.

When he had gotten into a spot of mischief he would whisper his secrets to the lemon balm and when he was sad he tell his woes to the rosemary. And they really were the best of friends. The denizens of the garden never thought Julian was unruly or too loud. His green companions never showed him from their company. So he sand to them nightly because it was the only gift he could give them in return for their company.

But one night Julian’s father had been fed up with Julian trouncing in the muck and singing nonsense to plants. He had struck little Julian across the face and had the boy locked in his chambers. Julian wept into his pillow, not just from the sting on his cheek but because his father said he would be walking off the garden, depriving Julian of his only friends in the world. But garden had grown fond of little Julian.

That night the leaves on shrubs and bushes called out to the nearby forest. They rustled back and forth parlaying for the young boys freedom. The forest said that it would shelter no human for they were cruel and sought only to take and chop and burn. And so all the denizens of the garden came to a decision. They drew the magic and life that flowed in all things and crept their roots to Julian’s window. They reach inside and curled about his sleeping form. They poured forth all the life and magic within themselves into little Julian. Transforming him into a not quite human. The magic of the soil and breeze and rain was infused into the little boys very bones. Ever would he smell of roses and rosemary. Plants would flourish under his touch. The insects and little birds lent their voice to the little boy making his voice lovely beyond bearing. The beetles and mice let him walk quiet and unseen. The dirt would let neither time nor illness strip away his vitality. The berries and fruit made his kiss sweet and sour.

As the garden worked its magic the plants began to wither. For they had exchanged their life and for the little boy to be not human enough to live in the forest. Their last gift made his eyes as blue as his forget me nots, so that little Julian would always remember his first friends. His name was no longer Julian, but Jaskier. He was the gardens little buttercup, their precious poison.

When the sun rose over the estate the residents found the garden desiccated. The earth was dry and cracked, their plants dried and dead, the flowers drained of all their color. When Julian’s father came to his room to see if his son had learned his lesson he found the room empty and a husk of a cocoon formed from dried roots and vines on the bed. The open window looked out over the once vibrant garden. On the window sill was a vibrant bundle of forget me nots.

[bcynumbertwo]

A queer introspect into American Psycho.

Hi! What you are about to read is an essay regarding how Patrick Bateman could be interpreted as queer. I discuss my opinion and try my best to provide sources in support of my interpretation. This essay is not meant to be one that is regarded highly, I just wanted to share my thoughts.

If you are NOT interested in reading this, please scroll away. I don't want to have a discussion if you aren't willing to hear me out in the first place. For those interested, you can keep reading below.

For the following essay I will be analysing the book as that is what I am most familiar with, although I will be commenting on the movie directed by Mary Hurron throughout as that is what the general media is much more familiar with.

American Psycho is told through the perspective of Patrick Bateman, a heavily unreliable narrator, as we follow him through his daily life in New York City. The book emphasises the material goods in Bateman's life, such as referencing luxury clothing brands such as "Armani" and "Valentino Couture" to name a few. We are given much more detailed descriptions of the brands Bateman and his peers use and wear rather than the man himself. This ties into the theme of alienation throughout the book, how men like Bateman live a lifestyle rather than a life. They're out of touch with the rest of the world, and Bateman himself is out of touch with his life. He loathes the people around him. He's only defined by his material goods because he has no substance without them. Maxmunich states in their essay, 'American Psycho: The Corpse of Masculinity', that "Bateman is no one, therefore Bateman is everyone", which comments on how everyone around Bateman is just the same as him to a certain extent. If Patrick Bateman is no one without his luxury brands and expensive purchases, then so is everyone else.

So, what does any of this have to do with being gay?

American Psycho's core themes are loneliness and isolation. The 'perfect' lifestyle sold to you by magazines, television and other media will not cure you. Ellis' claims in the novel's afterword "I was also writing about my life and how empty it was", meaning that there's a relatable aspect that the author experienced with the novel. The lack of backstory and other personal details Bateman provides in the novel makes me believe that Ellis' intention was to make Bateman somewhat relatable to the reader as well.

I, as a queer, mentally ill, young man, saw a lot of myself in Patrick Bateman. Someone who became a mere husk of themselves just to fit a mold, who loathed everything as a consequence of this lifestyle I believed was perfect for me. One of the things I denied to accept to fit this mold was my queer identity. Many readers, including myself, believe that Bateman denied the same thing. With the fact that Bret Easton Ellis himself is a homosexual, and has had canonically/implied queer characters in his other works such as "Rules of Attraction" and "Less than Zero", as well as in American Psycho, it is not bizarre to assume Patrick Bateman could be queer-coded.

Throughout both the book and the movie, Patrick Bateman is very concerned with affairs involving Paul Owen/Paul Allen (For simplicity sake, I will be referring to him as Paul Owen), a coworker of his who holds the "Fisher account", an account Bateman seems to want his hands on for reasons never specified. Paul Owen is someone Bateman is implied to be envious of, although the movie makes this a reality with Bateman envying Owen's ownership of a home tanning bed, ability to get a reservation at Dorsia and supposedly having a better business card than him. This obsession with Paul Owen highlights Bateman's hypocrisy, as Melanie Jones (2014) writes "his hatred of women and gay men is contrasted with his obsession over the very thing he mocks these groups for desiring: status". Bateman believes that Paul Owen is in the way of leveraging his own status, thus wanting to kill him off. It is also ironic that a man so insistent on his hypermasculine lifestyle is obsessed with other men. To diminish Paul Owen's status, Bateman claims that Owen is a "closeted homosexual" and was "involved in that whole Yale thing" when interrogated about him after his disappearance. It is off-topic to what Detective Kimball was asking and is a claim that comes out of nowhere, which can read as Bateman projecting onto Owen. Homophobia became rampant in the late 1980s due to the rising of the AIDS epidemic, meaning that not only would Bateman deny his homosexuality due to the alienation he will experience if he admits it but also due to the paranoia surrounding AIDS. Because of this, people like Bateman being homophobic at this time period wasn't uncommon.

However, many people believe that just because Bateman is homophobic, it means that he can't be homosexual, which is not true.

Many queer people do not identify themselves as such due to limiting, conservative views they had in their past. Bateman is obviously quite conservative in his views, with his idolization of Donald Trump and having misogynistic, racist views on the world. His one-off left-leaning commentary is only said due to wanting to embarrass his peers and make himself look good. His peers, such as Tim Price, are very misinformed on things such as AIDS, as seen in the April Fool's chapter where he believes the theory that "if you can catch the AIDS virus [...] then you can also catch anything whether it's a virus per se or not", and clearly don't fact-check what they read on magazines. Bateman does not actively seek out knowledge, only knowing things due to television and magazines. Much of his infodump chapters are of music relevant in pop culture and are copies of Rolling Stones' reviews. He does not have his own opinion on things because no one else around him does. Why would he acknowledge his homosexuality if he does not actively seek knowledge about queerness? If it doesn't matter to his peers, it doesn't matter to him.

Luis Carruthers is a character in American Psycho who is canonically queer as he has romantic feelings for Patrick Bateman. Bateman has, on multiple occasions, tried to murder Carruthers but it is never successful. The moment Carruthers acknowledges Bateman, he freezes up, unable to go through with the killing. Carruthers outright admits he'd rather die than be without Bateman, meaning he has permission to kill Carruthers, yet never does. If Bateman was so disgusted with homosexuality, wouldn't that disgust triumph over his ego? The only other character that Bateman has failed to kill is Jean, and what both Luis and Jean have in common is that they both regard Bateman with genuine love.

Carruthers serves as a contrast to Bateman, as by their final encounter Carruthers is comfortable in being outwardly extravagant, as seen by his clothing: "Jaguar-print silk evening jacket, deerskin gloves. a felt hat, aviator glass". While Bateman may not even be homosexual, Carruthers still contrasts him as while he is comfortable with his sexuality, at least enough to overtly display himself in a more lavish, stereotypically 'gay' manner, Bateman is not. Homosexual or not, Bateman is extremely insecure about his sexuality and never becomes secure.

The Concert chapter consists of Bateman going to a U2 concert with his peers. Bateman describes his encounter with Bono, the band's lead singer, like so: "I get this tremendous surge of feeling, this rush of knowledge and my own heart beats faster because of this and it's not impossible to believe that an invisible cord attached to Bono has now encircled me and now the audience disappears and the music slows down, gets softer, and it's just Bono onstage", "I'm left tingling, my face flushed, an aching erection pulsing against my thigh,". This is possibly the most charming description in the entire book, as if Bateman has discovered something new, and almost exciting, as implied by the fact he got an erection from that encounter. The reader, much like Bateman, feels enchanted as they read. Most descriptions in the book are empty, almost gross, because Bateman doesn't bother with the finer details or emphasises his feelings. It lacks the materialism present throughout the entire book, and it is one of the few moments we, the reader, really get into Bateman's true psyche. He never describes any other encounter he has with people in such a way.

To conclude, there are reasons as to why Patrick Bateman could be interpreted as a queer man. This essay was made because I personally interpret him as such, although only partially. I've seen a lot of people online disregard discussions about Bateman being homosexual because they believe their take on his character to be factual. While yes, Patrick Bateman may canonically be a heterosexual man, is it wrong to explore different interpretations of his character? Of course Bateman would never admit he was a homosexual, he's dismissive of the world and thus dismissive of himself, but the possibility that he could is exciting. The beauty of literature is the exploration of different themes, even ones you were not open to initially, because it's an art. American Psycho is one of my favourite novels of all time because of how much you can pick it apart and analyse tediously, which is what the beauty of art is.

If you have actually read all the way through this long essay, thank you so much. Literature is an interest that is very special to me and to know that people are willing to read and discuss my thoughts on works I like makes me feel happy. Have a lovely day. <3

[jabbers-wild-world]

@ashortdropandasuddenstop | Favors for Favors

A month had gone by since the deal had been struck between the Radio Demon, and James Norrington. It had Husk on edge, Niffty seemingly unbothered, and.. well, things hadn’t changed much around the hotel since. Except.. perhaps that the two were seemingly on possibly slightly better terms? Which, of course, had been a delight to Charlie, as she seemed to see it as progress on both of their accounts, but.. today was different.

Alastor had left the hotel, making claims of some errand or another he needed to run, but the thing was.. no errand of Alastor’s had ever taken quite this long to complete.. It was time practically nearing the witching hour by now, and the crimson deer demon had still not returned. It had sent Charlie anxiously pacing the parlor, Vaggie working to convince her Alastor was fine or that he’d probably stopped for a chat with Rosie in Cannibal Town and was staying the night there. Even Niffty seemed mildly put off by Alastor’s lack of reappearance, and Husk.. Well, Husk had shut down things at the bar early, going up to his room himself to.. as he said, sort things out a bit.

So now.. as a single, solitary letter slid under the hotel’s front door, the lobby was silent and empty, all residents supposedly having turned in for the night… Even as, almost akin to being pulled by an invisible thread or guided by an unseen hand, the letter slid its way along the floor.. everything was quiet in the stillness of the night. The letter slid its way along, almost dancing in a non-existent breeze as it lifted and twirled up the stairs, toward Charlie’s bedroom.. only to be stopped as it collided with the leg of someone it clearly hadn’t been meant for.

[chaifootsteps]

it’s so bizarre who I use to be all about Angel and husk back in the day, but now I hate it. I hate how aggressive the official accounts are about it and making these cringe posts

I hate how viv doesn’t know how to write mlm relationships, she ruined the ship. It’s like that nasty huskerdust cocktail at the premiere, that perfectly embodies the ship.

No wonder fans go crazy with headcanons the show just feels so empty there’s just a lot of wasted potential.

Husk is a hypocritical asshole who gives Angel shit about everything even stuff he isn’t gonna do like drugs or have sex with strangers on their last day. I thought he was gonna be the character that people drop their shit on and he’d either flip you off and tell you get your shit together or drop some good as advice, which happened but we don’t fucking see it and he uses the stuff they told him in private or worse drunk to call them out like fuck you. If Angel told husk stuff in private, husk doesn’t get to use that shit against him

Angel is just rape fetish porn that the writers don’t take seriously or get off to it, they swept so much of his character development under the rug either because they didn’t know how to handle SA topics without the pop filters or didn’t think it through. This is the character that viv claimed she put the most love and work in and that was a fucking lie, we were just told he’s getting better and don’t show him getting better. He doesn’t even apologize to husk for the uncomfortable sexual harassment and unwanted sexual advances.

Their situations are absolutely not the same, yeah they sold their souls but for different reasons. Alastor isn’t as bad as valentino, not even close. The only thing he does is make husk work at a bar and was chummy with him in the pilot and even made it worth husk’s wild by giving him free alcohol that husk accepts

I just hate it

As someone who used to absolutely, unconditionally love Stolitz?

[imagionationstation]

Greetings!

I've made plenty of AU's by far, and often make it known on your account. Specifically, you may know me for Oroku A and B (AU of which either A-Team and B-Team were raised by Oroku Saki, a.k.a the Shredder), and my Skewered Two AU (human Leo and Raph, half human Donnie and Mikey)— though, had you pay attention, you may notice how all these AU's had something in common, that being it centers around the B-Team.

See, I love the B-Team. Especially Donatello, since he's my favourite, but Mikey comes second.

I adore them, in fact.

But I'm craving for angst now, so they got to suffer.

They got to die, actually. Temporarily, pronto.

Therefore— Empty Graves AU.

One thing I notice from the 2012 series was how both Donatello and Michelangelo had, one way or another, died in a certain way that there wasn't a body for the two eldest to bury. Albeit temporarily, only for a little while, they died nevertheless— and died with no remnants of themselves left.

Michelangelo got disintergrated by lightning and Donatello got molecularly scattered. It was only by sheer luck that they were brought back to life. A miracle, in fact. They didn't survive the initial impact, only somehow able to avoid the aftermath.

But what if fate isn't so kind?

What if they stayed dead?

Leo and Raph would have to confront the fact that they have to bury their little brothers— but they also have to face the fact that the graves are very much empty whenver they're visitting. There's no body in there; the only evidence of their little brothers— their poor, little baby brothers— ever existing was the cluttered mess of their rooms. Piles upon piles of mold-infested pizza boxes and failed or progressive inventions and Ice Cream Kitty and what's left of Metalhead.

But no little brothers.

The icing on top was the notes they left prior to their demise.

Mikey was eating pizzas, a whole box, in fact— and left a note on it before tossing the box into the fridge when they have to leave. A small note, saying, "Mikey's Pizza! No touch >:(" on top. There were some crumbs here and there, and the box is soiled from the grease. Raphael even jokingly said that he's going to finish it when they got home.

But now? The box remained untouched in the fridge. Even after it starts to grow bad, or had a small infestation on it— no one had the heart to throw it out, instead prompting to keave it be 'just in case'.

Donnie was going through his checklist before he had to divert all his attention into helping April. He had a whole list of what he had to do and what he's planning to do, all in alphabetised order, clipped on his clipboard. He even had a big bold red marker written, "I'll get on this later, promise!", before he had to chase after April.

Now, a week later, those checklists remained unchecked. His inventions abandoned, and the lab became what once a safe haven for their resident genius to an empty husk of who once owned it.

Leo and Raph grows increasingly violent each days— there's no more little brothers to voice out their concern, or cry for help, or whine or ground them– making sure they're not too ambitious and stays in the present— no one to question their violent decision or risks. They chase after whoever that had took their baby brothers from them, even cutting April O'Neil from their life, saying that if she got kidnapped again, it's her problem.

Little did they know, their little brothers never did left them. Physically, perhaps, but not in spirits. It also didn't quite dawned on the two youngest that they're dead — that no one can see them — so they don't understand why neither of their older brothers seem to acknowledge their existence. They don't understand why neither Leo nor Raph talks to them anymore, and couldn't help but to apologise and beg and questions why.

April did see them, though. She sees how Donnie and Mikey tried to get their attention, their spirits not once dimming. She would've told them, had it not been for the fact that the Hamato Family wouldn't even look her way.

Remember when I said 'temporarily'? Yeah— I'm not a huge fan for 'Major Character Death PERMANENTLY' kind of person. Not my kind of tea. So the two youngests came back later. Don't know how, but they just did. I just want to swallow the angst.

Go crazy.

(Call me Ellestrade, btw :))

I wrote an entire thing for this and it deleted itself.

Needless to say, objects were thrown.

Ellestrade, I feel like you’d be the type of person to come across me at a store and go, “Hey, wassup with you? Nice, nice- ALSO, I came up with a new AU idea, okay, so get this-” and we’d spend my five minute shopping trip talking AU brother trauma for an hour or two.

You adore B-team aspect. I adore the big brothers desperately needing/missing their little brothers aspect. Donnie is just a wholesome creature in all regards.

“They got to die, actually. Temporarily, pronto.”

You get me. You really get me :’)

YAS. I can taste this. All of it. AND IT HURTS.

You have the big brother angst completely plotted out. Allow me to fill in all the blanks for what I’m imagining for the LITTLE brother’s side of angst. (Not saying it’s canon. It’s just on my brain. A little expansion on trauma never hurt anyone~)

Okay, so we all know how Mikey died. He was zapped away by a transportation ray from the Newtralizer. (How the heck did they survive that episode without him tho??)

In the actual episode, he comes back to life with his body fully intact. He rebuilds himself as if there was just a minor transporter glitch and- wowsa!- exactly where he planned to be. And the smirk on his face said that rebuilding was both awesome and intentional. Which means that while he didn’t have a body, his consciousness was definitely alive and alert in some way. And when he saw Raph in trouble, he did what Newtralizer does and got his body back.

HOW, exactly, that works? I couldn’t tell you. Something to do with particles and mass and transportation physics, I assume. The body is being stored away in a pocket dimension? Meh. That’s not important.

If Mikey has a way to get his body back in canon, then that means that he should have a way to get his body back in your AU. That’s how you could un-dead him. He figures it out.

But that begs the question, if he figured it out in the show super fast- Why can’t he in the AU?

He CAN. In fact, his body is CONSTANTLY trying to rebuild itself. But he can’t remember how he died. He thinks he’s a ghost. And every time he feels the energy build up and the tug of something against his core/spirit/ki, he gets terrified that his body is trying to pass on. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here with his brothers. So he shoves down the vibrations and the energy and tears away the claws that pull him elsewhere, and he forces himself to stay.

And every time he fights it down- he blips out.

His spiritual form disappears and comes back. He has to go through the motions of figuring out his scrambled memories and why he’s being ignored and why his brothers are constantly screaming at each other or crying late at night. He has to relearn about his death over and over- broken every single time that he realizes that it’s his fault that his family is like this.

But what about Donnie?

He didn’t die in the same way that Mikey did. He was quite literally torn to pieces, past flesh and bone down to sparkly blue spirit. Za-Naron wanted to make sure that he was absolutely gone to the point that no one would be able to get him back. Without him there to reach April, the demon was confident that she would win.

But the process of complete elimination was interrupted by April. She was still fighting in there. And instead of erasing him off the face of the planet, he was simply shattered. His essence and very being was tossed all over the city in the sparkly blue explosion.

His self ends up in pieces- slots of memories that can’t learn or adapt or process past what they already know. The most recent piece, one made of up memories that tracks to the day before Donnie decides to test April’s power (and everything goes wrong), is in the lair.

He doesn’t understand that Mikey is supposed to be dead because Donnie died first. He can understand that Leo is crying, but it’s like something disconnects before he can process why. He knows that Raph just shoved passed, but the knowledge that he went straight through him isn’t a conscious realization. He knows that Mikey was standing there a moment ago, but the fact he flickered out of existence is replaced with the confidence that he’d simply walked past him, to his room or the kitchen.

Mikey is not dead because his body is still out there. Donnie isn’t dead because his spirit isn’t intact to pass on. Ergo, they stuck.

Neither realizes anything is off. They both see each other as solid, physical people. Donnie can’t comprehend that anything is wrong with him or Mikey. Mikey never quite remembers that Donnie is supposed to be dead.

At least, not until he goes above ground, and finds more Donatellos up there as well.

There’s one near a computer shop, stuck in the motions of gushing about how amazing the surface is. There’s another at the junkyard, muttering about the needed parts for the turtle mech. He finds a small Donnie, maybe five or six, crying and scared in the sewers, terrified when a Mikey who is not his little brother approaches, begging for his papa to find him.

Finally, Mikey realizes that something is absolutely wrong here.

And so, he seeks out the only person who might be able to help.

A certain banished April O’Neil who runs straight into a stop sign when he jumps out in front of her.

[happily-wretched]

Ravenously Occupational (Episode 3)

Jace stumbled into the office, his stomach gurgling and growling. He clutched his abdomen, wincing as it churned and groaned, a feral sound. It had been 24 hours since his last meal and the gnawing emptiness consumed him. Coffee sloshed in his thermos, but even the rich brew couldn't quell the ravenous beast within.

"Morning, Jace!" chirped Sandra, the perky receptionist, as he slunk past her desk. Her chipper greeting only made his hunger worse. He grunted a reply, unable to muster a smile.

Fumbling with his keys, Jace unlocked his cubicle. Spreadsheets and reports awaited, an endless sea. But his mind was far from the finer points of actuarial tables. All he could think about was food. Juicy burgers. Fluffy pancakes. Creamy milkshakes. He shoved the thoughts away and booted up his computer.

As he worked, his stomach tightened into knots. It let out a loud, undignified rumble. Jace prayed no one had heard. He typed faster, numbers blurring. The cursor blinked tauntingly. How was he supposed to calculate risk assessment on an empty stomach? His brain felt like a hollow husk.

A soft knock sounded on the partition. "Jace?" called a deep voice.

He swiveled in his chair to see Beau, the new hire, peeking around the corner. Tall and lithe, with gorgeous brown eyes, he'd been the office heartthrob since his arrival last month. Jace had barely spoken to him, paralyzed by his own awkwardness and starvation. 

"Uh, hi," Jace rasped. His throat felt parched.

Beau smiled crookedly. "I just wanted to let you know I admired your analysis on the Smith account. Brilliant stuff." He seemed to study Jace intently.

"Thanks," Jace mumbled, blushing. "It was nothing." He wondered if Beau noticed how he trembled, how his stomach twisted against the confines of his slacks.

Beau lingered by the cubicle, eyes roaming over Jace's hunched form. "You doing okay? You seem a little..." He trailed off.

"I'm fine. Just hungry," Jace lied, fighting the urge to flee. Beau was too close. He could smell his cologne, rich and musky.

Beau's face softened. "I know the feeling. I skipped breakfast this morning too. Stood me up all wrong." He rubbed his concave belly. 

A pang of sympathy, and something else, rushed through Jace. He met Beau's gaze. In those verdant depths, he glimpsed a fellow sufferer. A kindred spirit in the throes of starvation. 

"I thought I was the only one," Jace said, finding his voice. “Y-You know, we’ve never really exchanged pleasantries before so um…”

"Beau." He extended a long-fingered hand, catching Jace off guard for a moment. "Jace. Good to really meet you then."

They shook, Jace marveling at the strength in Beau's palm, the slight scratch of calluses. Beau didn't let go right away. Neither did Jace. Electricity sparkled between them.

"Well, I'd better get to it then," Beau said at last, releasing him. "See you around."

He slipped away. Jace slumped back with a sigh, head spinning. He stared at his screen, the numbers meaningless. All he could ponder was Beau. His words, his touch, his scent. The two of them, aligned in hunger. 

The day crawled by in a fog of distracting fantasies. Jace's stomach never ceased its insistent growling. By 5 o'clock, he was light-headed, bones like lead weights. He packed up, eager for home and the fridge's bounty.

In the parking lot, he froze. There was Beau, leaning against Jace's hybrid, arms crossed. He looked up as Jace approached, eyes glinting.

"I thought, since we both skipped meals, maybe we could grab something to eat together?" Beau asked, straightening. His gaze roved over Jace's drawn face. "A burger, maybe? I could treat you."

Jace flushed at the forwardness, at the thought of sinking his teeth into a patty. "I don't know..."

"I'd love the company," Beau pressed. "Please? I’d love to get to know you on a deeper level."

Jace wavered. The prospect of a warm meal, Beau's company, was too enticing. His stomach let out a desperate whine. 

"Okay," he said, feeling reckless. "I'd like that."

Beau's smile could have lit up the lot. "Great. There's a place not far from here. Best patties in town."

They walked to Jace's car together, bodies brushing. In the car, Beau's forearm touched his, searing even through fabric. Jace drove on autopilot, hyper-aware of every shift and sigh.

The burger joint was a dive, neon-lit and sticky with grease. They ordered at the counter, Jace mindlessly reciting his usual, stomach growling its approvals. Settled in a back booth, they tore into the food like animals.

It was transcendent. The juicy bite of beef, the crisp snap of lettuce, the ooze of melty cheese. Jace ate until he was stuffed, slick with satisfaction. Across from him, Beau was in similar raptures, his lashes fluttering.

When they finally surfaced, sated, the air felt charged. Beau reached for Jace's hand. "Thanks," he said, voice low. "I was going mad this morning. This was exactly what I needed."

Jace laced their fingers, drowning in Beau's eyes. "Me too," he said thickly. "The whole day was torture. All I could think of was food."

"That, and maybe one other thing." Beau's thumb stroked Jace's knuckles. His gaze turned molten.

Jace's mouth went dry. He knew that look. Craved it. "Oh?" he breathed.

Beau leaned in closer. "I kept imagining you," he said, voice husky. "Wondering what those full lips would feel like."

Jace's heart hammered. "What else did you wonder?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

Beau's eyes flickered to Jace's mouth. "If you'd let me put my hands on you. See if that skin's as soft as it looks. My god, Jace." His grip tightened. "I'm hungry for you."

Jace met him halfway, starving no longer.

[dirichletttt]

My queue has run out

What is this account now, except an empty husk, occasionally documenting posts long gone by (3 months ago)?

[stinkykitty8]

same asker as before just on the right account this time OOOPS. thankyou!!! id also love to know more about basil in general tbh like his personality, how being dead affects him physically and mentally etc, if he has any particular interests, ifind him very interesting and unique!🐱

Basil is probably one of my favorite babies because of the backstory I given him. I love how you find him interesting and unique when he is both not that at all 😔 Hes sorta bland. His more tragic backstory makes up for the very dull life he has growing up and when older. He is technically dead? His body is dead and the only thing keeping him alive is his nervous system. He has no soul so after 'death' it'll just mean his body finally gives out and he will start rotting. Hes an empty husk. A walking nervous system i like to call it. Due to this his body is just slowly shutting down. When younger his body was sorta 'fresh'. He would eat normal and his body would function normally. But as he got older his body began deteriorating more and more to the point mow he can barely eat or do basic tasks. If he does eat his body rejects the food and he throws it up most of the time. Its hard for him to keep food down. Luckily with the help of yoki hes able to live a slightly comfortable life through blood transfusions and organ replacements. Hes able to kind of eat after that and his body can function normally for a little.

Now for mentally? Hes sorta just. Not there i guess? Best i can say is hes depressed without the sad part. To him doing anything is just work and he doesnt want to do that. Sitting in bed for him is easier and more simple then walking around and doing nothing. He takes bed rotting to a whole different level. He doesnr even really like anything. No fun hobbies. Nothing he likes. It just sorta all seems 'useless' to basil and he doesnt understand the point in why people would like certain things. He doesnt even seem to interested in plants like his dad. Yoki would bring him plants in hopes he woupd take care of them and then that would give him motivation to take care of himself, but then when she comes back next visit they will be dried up and dead. Hes just not a very interesting person who has a very sad life.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for “betraying” someone who had already betrayed me.

I’ve recently started working under someone, we’ll call him B for now, who claims to be working towards a common goal, a shared interest if you will. He claims to want to create a new, perfect world, however I have my own personal doubts about his true goals.

To start, when I first approached him, graciously offering my help, he refused. Not only was it insulting for him to spit upon my offer, not even bothering to consider it, it was also highly suspicious. After all, he would need my powers to actually create his perfect world, unless his idea of a “perfect world” was a mere barren wasteland.

So of course, when he returned to beg for me to join his team, I was cautious. Of course I wanted to believe him, I want a perfect world just as much as he claimed to. Perhaps that is why I had to keep such a close eye on him. After all, if he was lying, where would that leave me? Where would it leave his other minions? He had told them all the same thing. I wasn’t merely looking out for myself here, I was looking out for all of his minions!

I kept a close eye on B, listening in on his conversations. The most interesting ones were always the ones he had with his loyal assistant, N, and it was during one of these that he finally revealed his true goal. He had never planned to create a new world at all! No, he intended to destroy them, and leave them all as barren, empty husks! Of course, N seemed perfectly content to play along with his plans anyways.

I, on the other hand, actually wanted what I was promised. Which meant, of course, that I had to start working behind B’s back to get it, since he had no intention of keeping his word. Unfortunately, this did mean helping the heroes defeat him, but it truly is a small price to pay for a perfect world.

My plan was perfect, too. To defeat B, the heroes had to use their only hope of later defeating me, ancient creations made specifically to thwart B’s plan. And once they were used up, I could easily take B out and dispose of the heroes, with nothing available to stop me from carrying out the rest of the plan as promised.

But, somehow, this plan managed to fail! Through no fault of my own, of course, as I couldn’t have possibly accounted for this. Somehow, even after the heroes had used them up defeating B, their little magic artifacts came back to defeat me! As if I was the villain here!

Even worse than that, though, was that I later found out that they had returned because of the love that B and his minions had for each other! Because his minions were so sickeningly loyal to him that they either didn’t care that he had lied to them from the start or that they could never conceive of it happening! And, on top of that, they had the audacity to claim that I was the traitor for wanting what had been promised to me!

Is it really so heinous to want what was promised? Is it truly a betrayal when the one I’m “betraying” has been betraying me from the start?

[yanderelovlies]

More dante angst!!

Thanks to Trish and Lady, you had been sucked into the Urizen job much to Dante's dismay. He knew the job was gonna be dangerous, especially if Vergil was involved, but couldn't tell you otherwise. He had hoped that if they reached and defeated Urizen before you did, then there was less of a chance for you to get hurt.

What Dante didn't account for was to be knocked out by Urizen, leaving him unconscious for a month until V found him. V filled him on what happened since his disappearance. Even noting that Nero was heading Urizen as they spoke.

"What y/n? Are they at least safe?"

V stared at him as if collecting his thoughts, but before he could say anything, Griffon swooped down, landing beside Dante. "No one has seen them since the mission started. Lady thinks they might have had the same fate as her."

"Taken by Urizen as vessel."

Dante sat there for a bit before standing up. "Then I got a princess to save." Picking up the Devil sword, Sparda Dante swung it onto his shoulder as he began to saunter off. "Make sure Nero doesn't get there before I do. This isn't his fight."

V tried to call after the Devil hunter, but his calls fell to deaf ears. Finding you was whole drafting Urizen was his top priority.

.

Unfortunately, you were still nowhere to be seen. No demon Dante fought showed any characteristics or smell similar to yours, but he kept searching. Until he finally came up to the top once again.

When he opened the door again he expected an empty room like before. However, this time in the middle of the room sat a lone husk. It was on the floor looking crumbled and broken before being sucked of the blood it obtained.

"A little midnight snack huh big guy?"

Urizen lifted his head from fist, almost surprised Dante was standing before him. He said no words as the devil hunter walked around the husk.

Dante was about to kick the rest of the husk away when he spotted something familiar. Amongst the ash was the promise ring he had given you attached to a necklace. Dante could feel the world stop. This wasn't just any husk....it was yours.

"They came to me not long after you did. Foolish mortal. Their body was too weak and frail, so I put it to better use."

Dante just stared on your husk, unable to move. He could feel his whole world crumbling at the seams, and he didn't know how to handle it.

Tired of his hesitation, Urizen sent out two of his tendrils to pierce through Dante, but before they could hit two gunshots, they rang out, hitting both tendrils

"Come one, Dante!, get yo -" It didn't take long for Nero to piece it together. You didn't make it. This fight got more personal.